


Weird

by shnuffeluv



Series: No Romo [7]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Aromantic Character, Gen, Queerplatonic Relationships, arophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-26
Updated: 2016-01-26
Packaged: 2018-05-16 10:40:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5825398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shnuffeluv/pseuds/shnuffeluv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>None of the police officers except Lestrade can take a hint. Neither Sherlock nor John are amused.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Weird

Sherlock knows John’s date the previous night went well based on the song he was humming as he shaved, and the fact that he didn’t flinch at the thumbs in the fridge. He didn’t like this, but he and John had agreed that if John needed romantic attention, that he should date. Still, repetitive dates, with the same woman...it made Sherlock uncomfortable. Fortunately, or unfortunately depending on how you looked at it, they had a case, so he wouldn’t have to talk about it.

This time, it was an abduction case, or something of the sort. Abduction gone bad was more like it. There was one girl severely injured, and her father was dead in the street where Sherlock was investigating. John was keeping track of Sherlock’s deductions, always a step behind him (literally) and right beside him (in the terms of deductions). Some of the officers were whispering (when were they not?) about Sherlock and John’s...relationship, they liked to call it, because no one seemed to actually believe that they could just be friends. “Well, it’s a bit weird, isn’t it?” one of them asked. “Just friends?”

“It’s the 21st century,” another said. “Do you really think anyone buys that story?”

“It’s not a story,” the first one said. “I watched them once. All night at the station, drunk. Nothing. Just...friends. It’s almost as if they’d been shot with something that stopped romantic feelings.”

“One day John’s gonna find himself a woman and move on.”

“I almost feel bad for the freak. Almost.”

“He’s got no one. No one! No matter what Watson says.”

Sherlock bristled at every comment. John looked over at the officers and then at Sherlock. “D’you believe them?” he asked.

“Does it matter what those imbeciles think?”

“I don’t know, Sherlock, does it? To you?”

“No. In your opinion, what’s cause of death?”

“Blunt force trauma to the back of the head. I don’t believe you.”

“I agree, and I really don’t care if you believe me or not.”

“Liar,” John scoffed, and the entire scene went silent.

Sherlock glanced around. “John, people are staring.”

“I don’t care, Sherlock.” John turned to the officers. “You think it’s funny, do you? You’re talking about a living, breathing person! And the term is ‘queerplatonic’. It’s the 21st century. Look it up!”

Sherlock smiled. “And while we have your attention, I’d like to say: if I’m a freak, then I fear for the future of NSY. Because a majority of what I’m doing is what  _ any _ detective worth their salt should be able to do. And if I’m a freak for that,” Sherlock shrugged and laughed. “Well, do you want to inform your bosses of your opinion, or should I?”

“What opinion?” Lestrade asked, sending the officers scurrying back to their work.

“That observational skills anyone can adopt make someone a freak.” Sherlock spun in place. “The kidnapper was a former army man or police officer, I suspect. He knew how to keep someone quiet during a struggle, suggesting some sort of undercover work. Knew how to handle a gun, too, enforcing the idea of military. He wouldn’t have passed evaluation to have a weapon on the police force.”

“He?” Lestrade asked. “We haven’t found anything to say he.”

“Bruising from blunt force trauma gives us the angle of attack. It’s statistically unlikely that the perpetrator is female. Do you know about the term ‘aromantic’? Because it seems your officers don’t.”

“I put them through sensitivity training. Did it really do nothing?” Lestrade growled.

“If anything it made them resentful,” Sherlock sighed.

“Sorry, Sherlock, it’s hard to keep them in line.”

“I noticed,” Sherlock growled. “You have your information, do you need me further?”

Lestrade shook his head. “You can go.”

Sherlock walked off with John close on his heels, when one officer yelled, “Hey, freak!”

John turned around. “How can I help you?”

The officer stuttered and John turned around, leading Sherlock away quicker. “Don’t respond, just keep moving.”

Sherlock looked back a little curiously. “I think we’re not getting let onto another crime scene for a while,” he muttered.

John laughed. “Is that your biggest concern? I could have sworn that was my girlfriend.”

Sherlock sniffed a laugh. “You know, you might be getting just a bit too good at reading people.”

“Yeah, well. Wonder where I got that from?” he asked out loud.

They both giggled at that. “Any chance I could get reassurance that you still like me?”

John took Sherlock’s hand. “Let people stare,” he said.

Sherlock grinned.


End file.
